Sun, Star, Moonlight
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: Rapunzel has a twin, Tinuviel, who sets out to discover her sister's whereabouts before their 18th birthday. She meets Flynn, who stole her sister's crown. Pascal isn't who he seems. Hints of Stardust/PotC crossover. Mature content.
1. Chapter 01

**A.N.**: For some reason, I was on Google, drawn into searching, as you sometimes are, and the model Lindsay Wixson captured my imagination as the true-to-life Rapunzel. Well, or an older Vivienne Jolie-Pitt! I was inspired by several other things with this fanfiction: the films _Marie Antoinette_, _The Blue Lagoon_, _Pirates of the Caribbean_ and _Stardust_; Queen Victoria's little diamond crown; the Russian Imperial Faberge eggs; the Duchess of Cambridge; the cryptex from _The Da Vinci Code_; puzzle-stars; the knife Celeborn gives Strider in _The Fellowship of the Ring_; early Brownie cameras; baking with my mother last night; the pearls Paris gives Helen in the movie Troy; and curiosity-cabinets.

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><p><strong>Sun, Star, Moonlight<strong>

_01_

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><p>Once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens, into the magical realm of Faerie. From the single drop of purest sunlight grew a golden flower: this flower, the only of its kind known in existence, possessed healing qualities. A hooded crone, wizened with age, her heart blackened by the decay of vanity, tossed her runes into her gnarled palm one evening, and, her papery skin crinkling so dangerously one more line might tear the powdery folds, she frowned into her grubby, liver-spotted palm, at the runes scattered there.<p>

The crone was a witch—not a powerful, evil witch like the Lilim, nor a travelling pedlar like the notorious Ditchwater Sal with her yellow caravan and beautiful little blue bird with her long tail and wistful piping song. This witch was neither good, nor evil, but a mixture of both depending on what she desired, for this witch was acquisitive, and selfish to a fault, and once had set her mind upon something, would do anything to possess it. She was greedy and vain, to her doom. But her youth and beauty had long since withered, and with every passing age, she retreated more and more into the forests of the world, using her remnant magic to build for herself a high tower, hidden in a canyon that, had anyone but the witch ever seen it, would have been declared one of the most beautiful in all of Faerie. The witch ventured outside this canyon only for a special kind of sweet parsnip that grew on a curious outcrop of cliff at the coast.

It was on this outcrop of cliff that the magical golden flower blossomed, glowing in the misty night, the stars wheeling and dancing overhead, glittering and sparkling as they laughed amongst themselves, and watched. Always, the stars watched.

They alone witnessed the witch stumbling upon the golden flower with hope giving a spring to her step, and listened to the paper-thin voice crackling eerily as she cooed over the blossom:

_Flower, gleam and glow,_

_Let your power shine._

_Make the clock reverse,_

_Bring back what once was mine._

_What once was mine…_

For centuries, the witch kept her treasure secret, guarding it with magic, using its power to keep herself young—in much the same way other witches sought the hearts of fallen stars.

One son of the thirty-fourth King of Stormhold evaded the fratricidal customs of his family's kingdom; he had no desire to rule Stormhold, therefore his remaining brother allowed him to live; the abdicated prince was an adventure-seeker, and, discovering an enormous tropical sea that boasted the most entrancing and beautiful coral reefs in all of Faerie, the Prince of Stormhold claimed the coast and its surrounding lands for his own, settling a small colony on the richly-vegetated island just off the coast of the mainland as his royal seat.

The sun shone at least three-hundred days out of every year on this coast; it rarely eclipsed, not even while rain showered down like glittering diamonds, as it did intermittently throughout the day, especially in high summer, the forget-me-not sky rarely clouding but with the gentle, pretty clouds that frothed and billowed like thistledown; the rain collected in the tide-pools that surrounded the island, pockets of gloriously-coloured coral made home to flickering beautiful fish; tiny spiky little creatures; frilly, glossy ones; slow, stone-coloured ones; twisted pearly shells; little ink-eyed crabs and vibrant starfish. Beyond the reefs, the sea sparkled a persistent aquamarine, vivid like a sea of dark topaz, especially at the end of an evening, when the sun set forth a glorious setting for the rise of sapphire evening. The sparkling rain pitter-pattered over lush, glossy leaves of intricate, exotic plants that bore heavy, exquisite fruits, some with jewel-bright seeds filled with tart, saccharine juice, some flaky and juicy, some soft, and so messy to eat it was best, the settlers joked, to eat them only whilst lying in a bath. Or a sun-drenched tide-pool, the water warmed by the sun until it was almost like a bath, but for the salt. Sand glittered, flawless and tightly-packed, footprints barely recognisable, the frothy waves playing and sparkling as they rushed to try and greet the glossy foliage of trees laden with vividly-coloured birds of every colour. And there was _fish_. So many different kinds of fish, some so brilliant they rivalled the plumage of the exotic birds, some so tiny they flickered like wisps of silver, some with diaphanous wings that flicked water as they leapt and played.

The name of this new kingdom was created Coronae, in homage to the story of the white crow, cursed to darkness by the Sun God for reporting on the infidelity of a lover; on her funeral pyre, the lover bore, with the help of the Messenger God, a son, a story that paralleled the prince's own birth, cut from his dying mother's womb, as sometimes horses were. Just as in the Greek tale, the son had survived; the mother had not.

In time, the little colony of Coronae became a great kingdom, the island renowned for its incredible architecture amongst the leafy palms that shaded most of the lower rungs of the city, which grew up the island's hill just as coral was tunnelled and burrowed and made spires and towers of by brine and time and little creatures. A beautiful, sinuous palace was built, with enormous windows and great balconies that looked over the colourful reefs, great towers that could see across the elegant bridge that was built from the mainland to the island, and which could be dismantled upon threat of attack—though there had been none, at least against Coronae, for hundreds of years, since the great incursions against the goblins in the Dawnbringer Mountains and the great Battle of the Five Armies—to the great green lands beyond, some tilled a rich brown; some shining like gold; some vivid green and sewn with dark emerald trim like patchwork quilts; there were rumours of a great river, and _waterfalls_ guarded by great granite renditions of the great Kings of old; and they could just see, from the very tallest of the balconied towers, _mountains_. Great jagged monuments that shone orange, fuchsia and gold, vivid purples and sapphires as the sun set, and pale, soft colours of pink, fawn, silver and lilac at sunrise, capped with _snow_.

From the towers, one could see every star in the sky, for the island was removed enough from the mainland that the entire heavens were open to those who lived there; limitless, the sky wheeled and turned overhead, the Sun caressing their faces, the great lady of night, the Moon, soothing them, while her daughters danced elegantly and whispered, sparkling, laughing at the adventures of youngest-sons and forgotten princesses, good-natured farmer's boys, ill-treated stepdaughters and the unexpected luck of widow's sons.

Coronae grew into a tiny but prosperous kingdom. One could say opulent, for though it was little, Coronae was _wealthy_, and it was noted by historians that the thirty-fifth king of Stormhold might have done better to have killed his brother, rather than let the prince claim the land as his own. Coronae boasted a trade in the finest pearls in all of Faerie; the vividly-coloured little fish found in tide-pools were gathered and sold throughout the world for fortunes; the weavers were renowned for their silks, so fine they felt like warm water against one's skin; men travelled from all over the realm to pick and cultivate rare flowers that grew only in Coronae, and even dwarves had been spotted on occasion, for pockets of legendary _mithril_ had been found alongside a small and meticulously-regulated diamond mine; the little island kingdom boasted the grandest navy in all the world, with ships polished to a blinding shine, pristine white sails and the watered purple silk flag emblazoned with the intricate sun of gold embroidery; many a penny-dreadful was dedicated to sailors who went awry, pillaging and ravishing beautiful maidens, seeking lost treasures, and generally having a lot of fun.

Over the centuries, as Coronae grew and prospered into an opulent kingdom delighting in frequent, relaxed meals; with dainty hats and mithril tiaras; with hunting on the Coast, across The Water; with _roses_ imported from the far-distant, mythical place called _England_ beyond the Wall; with balls under sparkling diamond skies and glowing lanterns; with champagne and foreign delicacies brought by Ambassadors; with legendary pirates of fearsome disrepute and with _adventures_ to Abroad, the witch returned, time and again, to the golden flower, each time crooning softly in the night, restoring her beauty, her youth…and keeping the knowledge of the flower's existence to herself, that no-one could take her youth and beauty from her.

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><p>In time, a new king was crowned; Thomas. He was the ninth king to possess this name, and like many of his ancestors before him, he had inherited good-hearted wisdom, gentle solemnity that at times was shirked by moments of great merriment that set the beautifully panelled halls of the palace echoing with his booming, rich laugh. King Thomas was a handsome man, broad-shouldered, with rich shining mahogany hair and a deep tan and sparkling eyes; as a young man, he had loved nothing more than <em>adventuring<em>, as so many wealthy sons of the realm did. His adventures had been documented, sometimes wistfully, mostly romanticised and sometimes downright untruthfully, in serials, and many a heart was broken when it was announced that the King had found his bride whilst on his travels.

Astrid was a beautiful lady of glowing golden skin, shining brunette hair, and the tiniest smattering of freckles across her little button nose. Those hearts she had helped break with her surprise marriage to the king whilst upon his travels were soon mended; Astrid was a _beautiful_ lady, not only in physical appearance, but in personality. While King Thomas was known and well-loved for his strength of character, his kindness, culture and great personal charm, Astrid soon became adored for her great beauty, her intelligence, elegance, her generosity and unfailing kindness. Queen Astrid was _wise_, and while her husband was jolly, and preferred to spend his days out-of-doors, swimming in a private lagoon especially for the royal family to enjoy, sailing in a little rowboat he had built himself, or tending the rose-garden his mother had planted, and which now Astrid adored, Astrid was a good, steady lady with a kind heart, and a diligent, hardworking personality dedicated to finishing projects to the finest details; between the King's goodhearted humour and generosity, his popularity with his subjects and the wisdom his experience during his adventures had given him, combined with the love the Coronaeans had for Queen Astrid and her goodness, the two ruled Coronae for many years, blissfully happy.

Astrid was very young when she had married and became Queen of Coronae, barely seventeen; nearly ten years later, she grew heavy with child. Plans were made for the celebration of all celebrations, the first child of the royal couple expected and anticipated with great delight; would it be a son, with his father's handsome face and deep, easy laugh, or a daughter, with her mother's pretty green eyes and glowing smile?

When news circulated the palace, and then the city, that Queen Astrid had grown ill, seers, soothsayers, oracles and magicians were consulted. Even in the best of times, King Thomas would have travelled the world to pluck a bladed of grass his wife had asked of him; his beloved wife now extremely ill, another life dependent on hers, King Thomas had every seer, every soothsayer consulting their runes, searching, hoping for a miracle, until, as Fate would have it—and Coronaeans believed very deeply in Fate—they discovered the source of a cure for the Queen.

The cure was a _flower_, said to heal all wounds, cure all illnesses.

In his adventures, centuries upon centuries ago, the first King of Coronae allied with the legendary Ghozaigj knights, warriors renowned for their endurance and strength. And their loyalty. By the time of King Thomas' reign, there were few Ghozaigj descendents left, most choosing to live in and protect the most dangerous places in the realm of Faerie—but there were a few who remained in Coronae, protecting the royal line. It was these two Ghozaigj knights who led the search for the golden flower that would save the Queen's life: they found it, hidden on the coastal ridge amongst a bed of smaller, blooming _Campanula rapunculus_ plants, commonly known as _Rapunzel_ because of their bell-shaped flowers, lilac-blue, shimmering, and dainty.

The Ghozaij knight who found the golden flower picked for the Queen a posy of the wild Rapunzel flowers, and as the blossom of the golden flower was prepared in a special tea for the Queen, administered to her by her husband, the little Rapunzel flowers rested at her bedside, forevermore the king's favourite flower. Despite their humble purpose and unassuming prettiness, the Rapunzel were the source of the flower that had saved the life of his wife—and their children.

Two healthy daughters were born to the queen, as different as day and night, the sun and the moon. One had her mother's guileless emerald eyes, with locks of the sunniest, most luscious golden blonde; the first sound she made was a gurgling giggle, and it was rumoured throughout the kingdom that she had been born smiling. The King joked that he feared wings might one day grow.

The other daughter was a darker contrast, who grew with deep, shining hair the colour of ripe chestnuts, streaked liberally—and this was thanks to her father's love of the outdoors—with fire and golden-copper, especially when the sun shone; her eyes were the clear, beautiful blue of forget-me-nots, and she was a quiet contrast to her bubbly twin, showing her affection in her gentleness, content to sleep in her father's arms. She showed most life at twilight, when the stars began to sparkle, especially when her father held her in his strong, sword-calloused hands as he paddled in the surf, showing her the phosphorescence of the water in the moonlight; the little brunette princess learned to adore the water so much that, if not for her two legs and sweet little toes, she would have been deemed a mermaid.

The golden-blonde, the King and Queen named _Rapunzel_, for her golden hair matched the shining petals of the flower that had saved their lives, found in the bed of rapunzel. Born on Midsummer's Eve, the second daughter came into the world just as the first star started to glitter, visible through the window of the royal bed-chamber; she was named Tinúviel, an archaic name, revered by the Elves, and meant, literally, 'daughter of the starry twilight'.

To mark the beginning of the celebrations marking the birth of Princess Rapunzel and Princess Tinúviel, King Thomas and Queen Astrid launched a lantern into the flawless sky.

Weeks-long celebrations followed the birth of the twin princesses: Rapunzel, embodying the sun, was honoured during the sunlight hours; Tinúviel received prayers in the starlit hours when the parties grew boisterous, and she herself gazed up at her father and showed him the most recent trick she had learned; how to _smile_.

Toys and gifts and jewels were sent from all over Faerie to celebrate the girls' birth, gifts befitting the twin princesses of a kingdom steeped in magic; gifts that ranged from the dearest gift of two spun-charm flowers from a modest agrarian duchy, to three exquisite jewelled eggs from the King of Stormhold—one each for Rapunzel, Tinúviel, and the grandest for the Queen, incorporating the golden flower into the open-work filigree, diamonds and tiny rapunzel and forget-me-not flowers, with a mechanical surprise that lifted an enamelled, jewelled blossom, the three petals opening to reveal two miniatures of the princesses, and one of the king.

The nursery had already been decorated, the prettiest suites designed and decorated especially for the royal duet when they grew older: murals covering the walls featured great panoramas of life from the tiniest silver-fish in a vivid coral-reef, a fairy's perspective of a flower-garden, and dragons, hippogriffs and great colourful birds soared around mountains like those across The Water; the domed ceiling of the little tower-nursery featured a deep sapphire sky painted with sparkling diamond stars, fading to violet, lilac, softest blue, blushing-pink, and silvery-gold, the stars charting the exact constellations on the evening of the twins' birth.

King Thomas and Queen Astrid lived in a happiness they had never before believed conceivable. Their time became devoted to their two daughters, so different, yet so affectionate; every night, their little warm bodies could be seen cuddled together in their cradle—engraved with forget-me-nots and rapunzels, the sun and the golden flower, and draped with a diaphanous white veil. The little girls grew prettily, one golden and bubbly, the other quiet, her joy radiating softly; both were fat and extremely pretty babies, all hair and curious, seeking little hands. They delighted and entertained their parents, unmatched in their pride over their little darlings. Rapunzel was a little ball of energy, dashing about from the moment she had learned to pull herself vertical, reaching for her mother's pearl necklace. Steady Tinúviel took things at her own pace, but every time her eyes lighted on her twin-sister, a small smile would glow from within, radiating from her face.

For brief months, everything was perfect. Sketches were taken of the girls, printed with beautiful hand-painted borders of flowers, sent all over the kingdom—all over _Faerie_—and it was widely agreed that there could not be two more beautiful princesses anywhere. The King and Queen deserved their blessings, after the scare with the Queen's health, and the king, who grinned regularly, had never been seen more consumed by anything as he was with watching his daughters' every tiny discovery. Charities were created and named for the princesses; they were each given their own regiment of soldiers; and two new ships were commissioned, HMS _Aurora_ and _Evenstar_; the girls' first public appearance was at the christening of these ships, and each ship was given a flag to fly beneath the Coronaean, those of the Princesses' individual standards. The _Aurora_ bore a pale lilac-blue standard embroidered with a golden sun made up of tiny bell-shaped flowers to honour Princess Rapunzel; the standard of the HMS _Evenstar_ was made up of deep-sapphire watered silk, the sun worked in coppery thread worked in tiny motifs of forget-me-nots, to honour Princess Tinúviel.

A dark shadow followed the young royal family as they toured the docks, Rapunzel gurgling and giggling, grabbing her own tiny stocking-clad feet, Tinúviel quietly observing, her eyes sparkling, smiling more than her lips, in her quiet, steady way, her thumb already in her mouth, making not a sound; each of the girls rested in the arms of one of the two Ghozaij knights who had borne the golden flower to the dying queen, six steps behind the King and Queen, who received praise and posies and well-wishes for their sweet little daughters.

The shadow persisted still, even into the night, when a strange mist glittered on the turbulent waters, the blazing moon foggy, the stars barely visible; but they could see still. The eyes of the stars are strong, and many had heard of the Sun's daughters, and watched. They observed, whispering and glittering, trying to struggle through the mist and catch someone's eye, sparkling in warning, a hooded crone labouring over the balcony railings, creeping closer and closer, her gnarled hand curled around runes that showed her the way, up, up, up, to the princesses' tower nursery.

They watched the crone approach the cot—one of two, now, for the little babies had grown so much they could not now both fit the intricate cradle carved for the queen's child; the little cot held the golden-haired princess, Rapunzel, who was smiling softly, even in deepest sleep. The king and queen had discovered that Tinúviel fidgeted and cooed in her bed unless a singing mobile of pearls, tiny shells, crystal forget-me-nots and little starfish drifted overhead, and the sound of the whimsical music chiming from the tiny spun-charm forget-me-nots covered the sound of Tinúviel's breathy sighs. But she heard, and the stars observed, as the hooded crone approached Rapunzel's little bed.

"_Flower, gleam and glow, Make your power shine_," the crone sang softly, grinning eerily as she wielded a great pair of scissors from the folds of her cloak, picking up a lock of Rapunzel's glowing hair. Warmth radiated from the second cot, where Tinúviel was sucking her thumb, gazing at the pearls caressed by moonlight, and she twitched and blinked her steady blue eyes, and did something she had never done before. She sat up. Her sister was already adept at careening around the nursery, to her parents' delight and out-of-breath laughter; but Tinúviel had never before decided she wished to sit up, therefore she never had. For the first time, the little baby was curious, and the glow in her own cot matched that of her sister's.

The crone picked a lock of the princess's hair, wielding those great scissors, and as her features grew younger, and more handsome, she smiled greedily. As the scissors rang in the quiet, the crone gasped; her hands resumed their liver-spotted greyness, the skin withering and crackling, lines appearing, veins pronounced; the lock of hair she had cut dropped from her fingers, now as dark a chestnut as her twin's.

It is widely reported that twins can feel a connection; in that moment, Rapunzel woke, and saw the ghastly face of the crone within the deep hood, the gnarled hand reaching for her: Tinúviel had never been vocal about her emotions; Rapunzel was the giggler, the crier. At this moment, Tinúviel screamed.

When the nannies and maids and palace-guards reached the nursery, one royal child was screaming, her tiny face red and awash with her first tears; the other royal child was missing.

Only a lock of hair, two inches long, and so very dark and different from Princess Rapunzel's golden hair, remained in the second cradle.

For years, the king and queen searched for their daughter. Soothsayers, wizards, even dragons were asked. The King of Stormhold, whose own daughter had gone missing years before, lent all his kingdom's considerable might. Try as the united kings might, no word of the little baby princess ever reached either. For whatever reason, Fate had taken Rapunzel from her family, and the King and Queen never gave up hope that they would, one day, see her once more.

Every year, on Midsummer's Eve, the date of their daughters' birth, the King and Queen launched an illuminated lantern into the twilit sky; thousands followed suit, every citizen of the capital lighting their own lantern and sending it forth, joining the King and Queen in their hope that the lost princess would return.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


	2. Chapter 02

**A.N.**: Casting call! I found the most _perfect_ actors/models to portray Rapunzel, Tinúviel and Flynn/Eugene! First up, Rapunzel: Georgia May Jagger. For some reason, her imperfect smile reminds me of Rapunzel's rather large front-teeth in the film. For her twin, who is brunette, I found a picture of Lizzie Jagger, and that was it! That long, long curly hair is how I imagine Tinúviel. And as for Flynn/Eugene? Two words: Garrett Hedlund. Of _Tron_: _Legacy_ fame. Because, hello, delicious!

This chapter is dedicated to _ElizabethAnneSoph_, because you reviewed first. And to _shippolove844_, because your review came about an hour later! And, yes, this is a Flynn/OC story, but fret not, I have plans for Rapunzel.

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><p><strong>Sun, Star, Moonlight<strong>

_02_

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><p>Sixteen years passed, and the sole princess and heir of Coronae was now halfway between girl and woman, and comfortable in neither role. She had long, long dark hair that curled to her bottom, her nose was straight and very pretty, as were the freckles that scattered across it; as she had grown older, her eyes had darkened to a deep navy, framed with long, fine lashes; yet she seemed to be made up only of awkward elbows, rebellious curls that stuck out at odd, seventeen-year-old angles, and was making the strange transition from child to lady with accompanying awareness of her own body, and with a fierce appreciation for the molten feeling that unfurled rapturously whenever she glimpsed the handsome stable-boy, or when she read a particularly naughty contraband novel.<p>

At fourteen, thanks to lewd jokes of handsome, bored male courtiers who didn't realise she could hear them mutter she was almost "ripe for plucking", a handful of prints she found in her favourite cousin's desk-drawer that made her breaths come in pants, warmth flushing between her thighs, and inadvertently witnessing said favourite cousin from behind the doors of his dressing-room in the act, Tinúviel had learned of _sex_. It was because of this discovery that _The Adventures of Flynnigan Rider_ became her secret favourite novels; the non-sanitised versions had detailed illustrations and very bawdy descriptions of Flynnigan's conquests that had her _exploring_. At fifteen, she had discovered that _kissing_ was divine; and that _petting_ made her throb and moan and _explode_ as fireworks did. And at sixteen, she had turned the heads of many young courtiers—and even some of the older ones, comfortably married with grey in their beards—without realising it. At seventeen, she was conscious that her breasts were high and heavy, that her stomach was flat, and her legs were nicely shaped, if her hips were rather slender; the damsels Flynnigan Rider ravished in the novels always had voluptuous curves.

Through stories and penny-dreadful serials, Tinúviel heard tales of dashing pirates; glittering dragons' hoards; and elegant rogue princesses slumbering in diamond caskets; her history lessons taught her of goblin uprisings, and fratricidal sons of Stormhold; of Fallen Stars and dreadful witch-queens; of swordfights and of _Wall_. And beyond it, _England_. Queen Victoria, Empress of India, struck many chords with Tinúviel as she grew older, and Tinúviel was determined to be a _great_ queen, like her parents before her.

At twelve, she had discovered that she would become queen after Daddy King: drawing up a neat family-tree of the kings and queens of Coronae, she had discovered her father's name, Thomas IX, with two thin golden lines connecting to Astrid, and a narrow golden line connected to a horizontal one, from which two names were recorded; Tinúviel and Rapunzel. Nobody ever truly talked about Rapunzel, more than mentioning the Great Sadness, and it was assumed, unless any other evidence turned up, that Tinúviel was the Princess Royal, heir presumptive of the kingdom of Coronae.

She was formally tutored in everything from embroidery to politics—especially politics; and economics; the sciences; the modern languages (and some of the ancient ones): a coastal kingdom, with a father who loved the water, by the time Tinúviel was ten, she could sail a boat by herself; and knew the proper name of every fish, every sea-urchin, every starfish and species of seaweed, every sea-faring bird, and she knew their mating cycles, their migration patterns—and because Coronae traded mostly in fish, silk and pearls, this gave her an understanding of why poor fishing yields led to a downturn in the economy. She learned how to dance—oh, did she love to dance—and to sketch; her primary companions were her parents, and an ever-growing collection of dolls, for whom Tinúviel and her mother spent hours sewing the tiniest and most exquisite wardrobes, which were traded and neatly washed and ironed, and used as much for Tinúviel's one-act plays as they were teaching Tinúviel court etiquette.

Tinúviel spent a lot of time out-of-doors, for all she was a studious girl: from a very young age, her favourite pastime was playing in the tide-pools and reefs with her father, who liked to dive off the reef and taught her how to recognise oyster shells for the pearls that grew fat within them. She had a large aquarium in her bedroom, and the walls had been built with sinuously-carved glass-fronted cabinets, in which she set the growing collection of trinkets that she gathered herself, and things which were gifted to her by visiting nobility, Ambassadors, and gifts for birthdays and holidays.

As she grew older, lessons in business and law were added to the curriculum, which also included gardening—this was a stipulation added by Queen Astrid, who believed good hard work in a little plot of her own would teach Tinúviel the value of the work farmers put into their livelihoods, and taught Tinúviel where her food came from when she sat to tea. She read histories of Coronae; memorised the names of kings and queens and their children, the political alliances and marriages of their grandchildren; and charted the stars.

It was discovered when she was still very young that Tinúviel was uncommonly clever. A chess set gifted to her father was a source of curiosity for her, and he soon taught her how to play. By the age of five, she could beat anyone who sat before her. She had a mind completely attuned to fixing things; she adored riddles, and puzzles—three-dimensional ones, the more difficult, the better—and she seemed to consume difficult mathematical equations. She had a mind for mechanics, and architecture.

A visiting prince—Septimus, the youngest son of the King of Stormhold—arrived on a black stallion, wearing a sword, and bearing gifts for the little princess. The prince, so different from every other person Tinúviel had ever met, captured her imagination. Prince Septimus looked like a crow, dark, with glittering eyes, and was very clever: the gifts he brought were exquisite, expensive—silk gowns; spun-charm flowers from fabled Mount Calamon; more of the priceless eggs King of Stormhold sent on Tinúviel's and her mother's birthdays—yet the one that captured Tinúviel's analytical mind was not the beautiful ivory-faced doll with eyes of sapphire and lips of polished ruby, but an unassuming wooden star.

Prince Septimus had brought it to entertain himself; sixty-seven pieces had to fit together in one-hundred and forty-nine exact movements, or it wouldn't work. Prince Septimus's lips twitched with amusement as he sat, watching, as Tinúviel pieced together each and every part of the polished wooden puzzle. To everyone's astonishment, Tinúviel finished the puzzle within twenty minutes. Prince Septimus did not stay long Coronae—but long enough to prove a formidable opponent at chess, and he remained long enough to leave a lasting impression on Tinúviel: he taught her _cunning_.

And, intrigued by him, eight years old and curious about the blank-faced, black-eyed man with his sombre, elegant clothing, Tinúviel had followed him everywhere, and discovered a fascination with swordsmanship when watching Prince Septimus practicing. He had given her a few lessons, with a staff snapped in two; and "Daddy King" continued the lessons when he saw how much she enjoyed the sport.

It was Prince Septimus who had suggested Tinúviel use the costumes she hoarded in a trunk in her playroom for putting on plays to visit the city she so craved to explore: she would stand on the great balcony and watch the city, with its cobbled streets garlanded with flowers and flags on special occasions; she wanted to tour the docks, where the great ships anchored, great warehouses storing goods collected from all over the world; people from all over Faerie came and went in the different rungs of the tiered hillside city, which were festooned with colourful hangings of silk, covering souks that boasted the most beautiful perfumeries, spice-markets and flower-stalls in all the surrounding kingdoms; she had never visited a public-house, and could sometimes hear the strain of street-musicians. Her cousins ventured into other kingdoms, and brought back stories, and treasures, things native to other countries and held of little value there; Tinúviel collected them all in her curiosity cabinets.

Until she was nearly sixteen, she had never dared dress in disguise and slip past the guards. Knowing her two stalwart carers—the same knights who had brought Queen Astrid the golden flower—she did not go out of the palace unprotected, but the king watched his intelligent, earnest daughter and believed it a good idea that Tinúviel explore, unfettered, as he had as a boy, to learn of the darker side of the kingdom, so that, when it became her turn, she could understand some of the aspects of their role that made his heart ill at ease.

Tinúviel had long been dedicated to her charities; initially, she had adored, as any child would, the attention and gifts given when she opened schools and dedicated monuments and christened ships; she liked _people_, and was so rarely around children of her own age that, seeing clusters of skinny children offering her posies of flowers in shabby orphanages had a keen effect on her: as did touring the city in plainclothes. She toured the docks, as she had wished, and stumbled into a few troubles, though her life was never threatened, therefore the two knights never revealed their presence shadowing her. She saw orphanages when royal visits were not planned; she paid a halfpenny and sat in a regular school, paying close attention to everything the teacher lectured, comparing the quality of the children's education to her own superlative one; and she saw sprawling families living in tiny homes on the rickety quays; she saw children begging, and young boys denied apprenticeships for lack of funds; medicine became an interest, listening the colloquial language of the sailors who lost friends and shipmates to illness and avoidable accidents, and the squalid conditions of some of the homes in the lower rungs of the city filled her with a desire to inspire change.

Despite her heavy educational load—politics; law; economics; architecture—Tinúviel was still a young girl, and she was a wistful, subtly romantic one at that. She took enjoyment from music, and balls—she _loved_ to dance; aside from the contraband _Flynnigan Rider_ novels, Tinúviel took great delight in reading the colourfully-illustrated serials about an adventurous princess from an exotic land, who wore billowy silk trousers and a fitted jacket, bore a wickedly-curved scimitar that she wielded with lethal grace, and put roguish men in their places—though she did indulge in them, and quite often, too. Tinúviel's chief enjoyments were in swimming; figuring out the incredibly complicated star puzzles her father built for her—he had learned carpentry as a lad, and had taught her, too—reading and _planning_.

She planned to make a great many changes in Coronae when she became queen: she wanted to reform and advance education, welfare and things like medicine, to rebuild the quays, and set a cap on the minimum age young boys could go to sea.. She didn't understand how there could be people in such need of help when she lived in a palace. She wanted to stop people begging, going hungry; she wanted to build safe homes for the large families she glimpsed; she wanted medical aid available to those poor wives always with child, some of whom, through her wanderings, she had learned later had died of complications during childbirth; she wanted to create a health service that would provide midwives, no matter how poor the patient; she wanted to create pensions for sailors; and for widows. She already headed a charity for young mothers, and orphans, but her disguised forays into the city showed things without the sugar-coating that royal visits tended to lacquer the poor with.

It was only through her tours of the city that Tinúviel learned the true value of _money_; before she was twelve, she had believed the atelier who supplied her gowns and the milliner who brought her sweet hats of every shape, size, colour and design were _gifts_. Wandering the city, she came across the mills where fabric was made—and had opened several such places—and toured the fabric markets, learning the cost of measurements of specific fabric, and learning just how much it cost to keep her wardrobe up to date: at this time, she had asked the royal atelier to instead of supplying her with new gowns, alter the old ones, and had spent the money otherwise spent on her own wardrobe properly fitting out the children in orphanages that were part of her charity. She learned what it cost for fisherman to go to sea; and tales came from across The Water of the horrific troubles in the mines where gems and gold were found, which put her father in a solemn, heartsick mood, not broken for weeks as he went over radical reforms that would set limitations on the mines. The handful of fat pearls she had once collected with her father while they went swimming and diving were valued the same as two large houses; and the spun-charm flower she bore pinned to her frocks on day-outings was worth a queen's ransom, due to the difficulty in obtaining them. She learned how to barter, and trade; she was a quick learner, and watched people in the markets, interested in what goods they traded, and why, how it was that some of the items were valued above others. A renewed interest in geography had come about whilst researching tradable things—fruits, fabrics, gems, trinkets—that were available freely in Coronae, but nowhere else, and she eventually drew a great map of Faerie coloured with all of the goods native to specific areas, and where they were most valuable to trade—and this helped with her economics homework, as she had to work out how products were transported between places, at what cost, and whether there was a market in such products. Officially, she toured warehouses down by the piers, and would have explored them for hours as the products they hoarded were so fascinating, brought from all over Faerie.

Until she was nearly eighteen, Tinúviel had never had a friend besides her parents: her closest companions were her two knights and the collection of dolls she used to recreate Shakespeare plays and adventures, and to fill the empty little hand-carved seats at her tea-table in the playroom. It had never bothered her; at court balls and galas, she was charming and approachable, and for a few hours could pretend the girls she laughed with and the young men she danced with were her friends, and she would go to bed extremely happy.

Her lack of a friend never told on her much, unless the Great Sadness was mentioned. That's what the courtiers named the kidnapping and consequent vanishing of the sister who had been born a royal twin to her. At six, she had been told of Rapunzel, her golden-haired twin-sister, born within moments of her own birth; her father's eyes had shone with tears, and her mother's youthfully beautiful face had softened with sadness when they had told her the story of the golden flower. For a long time, she caused great unrest, because every time she sang the rhyme that accompanied the golden flower's power, Tinúviel would _glow_. It wasn't her hair, or her smile; _she_ glowed, from within, the vibrant golden glow emanating from her very skin. As time wore on, she glowed brighter the happier she was; at balls and parties, she shone with the consistency of the ever-climbing sun. As she grew older, her unhappiness was told only by the lack of her glow; and it always occurred whenever her parents were sad, in the month leading up to her birthday.

Every year on Tinúviel's birthday, a great banquet was held in the afternoon; courtiers, ambassadors, members of the royal family gave gifts. Despite their merriment, there was a sad glint to her parents' eyes when they looked at Tinúviel. In the evening, before a grand ball, when the sun had set, Mummy and Daddy-King would put on their finery; Tinúviel would be dressed in a lovely evening-dress, and Mummy would set on Tinúviel's head a delicate tiara of diamonds; Daddy-King would lead them, hand-in-hand—Tinúviel between her two parents—onto the grand balcony. They could gaze over the entire city, see the cobbled streets garlanded with flowers, and the sun standard of the royal family.

The evening of Tinúviel's birthday was the only evening when everyone stopped. Silence would fall, all over the city, and they would approach the single glowing lantern tethered with ribbons. As Tinúviel grew older, she stood atop the balcony railing, her parents holding her waist, and her parents would hand her the single glowing lantern, which she would release into the sky, calling her sister home. Then the entire city would begin to glow, as if catching fire. The ships illuminated, the gentle sea glittering with the reflection of thousands of lanterns that were released. Tinúviel would stand on the balcony, as the thousands of lanterns swirled up on the gentle breeze, embracing the palace before drifting around, swirling over the water, high into the sky, and trailing across The Water to the mainland.

* * *

><p>The month of May waned, Midsummer's Eve approaching within the next moon cycle, and Tinúviel was restless. She had come from her geography lesson, her head pounding, her eyes tired, and as she curled up on her mother's chaise, waiting for afternoon-tea to be served, her eyes fell on Rapunzel's trinket footlocker, the one to which her mother added a double of everything she had once sewn or crocheted for Tinúviel.<p>

Preparations were already beginning for a week's worth of celebrations to honour her eighteenth birthday; there were to be balls, afternoon galas, operas and ballets. But her parents grew saddened every time they thought nobody could see them—especially Tinúviel. Their sadness was tangible, returning Tinúviel to the earliest years of her life when everything she did had seemed to make them sad, remembering what had once been, and what they had lost and could never have. Years filled with dashed hopes had passed; the king had never quite had the heart to call off the searches for Princess Rapunzel, yet time had passed, and the king and queen had focused on their remaining daughter, lying awake at night and worrying. But at the advent of their daughters' coming-of-age, the wounds of grief were ripped open anew, and their joy over Tinúviel reaching womanhood warred with their grief over lost Rapunzel.

For the first time, staring at the engraved trunk, Tinúviel found she had developed, in that brief heartbeat's span of time, the desire to _leave_ the _city_. She wished to travel across The Water.

Because she wished to celebrate her eighteenth birthday with her _sister_.

She wanted to erase those lines of care and sorrow from her father's prematurely aged face—aged by heartsickness, and grief—and to make her mother _smile_. Her mother did smile, often, but it never quite reached her eyes, which always retained a shadow of sadness.

_What would Esmeralda do_? she thought to herself, recalling her favourite literary heroine's adventures, waiting for her parents to arrive in their favourite private drawing-room—the centre of their family-life, and one of the prettiest rooms in the entire palace, designed especially by Astrid herself, and featuring great climbing plaster roses, with lights illuminating the green glass inset into the upturned frieze, the bottom of the walls decorated with tiny painted seashells, pearls, roses and fairy-boats, which had given, once upon a time, Princess Rapunzel endless amusement; a built-in cabinet set into a corner where a curved settee was panelled in featured some of the Queen's favourite eggs gifted both from her husband and from the King of Stormhold, and these she would take out, on occasion, and let Tinúviel play with them.

_What would Prince _Septimus_ do?_ Tinúviel then found herself wondering. The dark crow-like prince had long been the source of fascination for Tinúviel: she remembered their chess games, and him teaching her that one could gauge the actions and reactions of anybody, thus anticipating every possible outcome, giving the ability to choose the best course of action. He had taught her that manoeuvring three steps ahead on a chess board could also be translated to swordfights, and even in politics.

"_Most importantly, cunning_," Prince Septimus would say to her. Every year, he sent a new, even more complicated puzzle to Tinúviel on her birthday. And, if her father was writing to the King of Stormhold, she would add a letter to Prince Septimus about her secret journeys through the city, and what she had learned.

She recalled that Prince Septimus had a sister who had disappeared years before Tinúviel was even born: and she wondered what approach Septimus would take if he was in her position right at this moment, contemplating going to find her sister.

Her parents would never let her risk herself by leaving the city. The palace, yes, she was allowed to continue visiting the markets and docks because, and she knew they did, her two knights followed her from the shadows, keeping an eye out for any trouble that could befall her. But to try and find Rapunzel, when no other person in all of Coronae and Stormhold ever had?

Sometimes she would stand at the balcony, gazing past the city, over The Water, and she would get a keening, _yearning_ feeling that felt somewhat like indigestion, and she would have to rub the heel of her palm against her chest, before the feeling faded; she would stand on the balcony railing and always, _always_, her gaze would be drawn in one particular direction.

She had read accounts of twins sharing a bond unbreakable by time or distance. And she sometimes thought, maybe, that she had such a bond with her twin—that she gazed in such unerring certainty in one particular way when her thoughts turned to her missing sister—and their bond drew her.

Tinúviel was unusually quiet when her parents arrived; they sat to afternoon-tea together, enjoying fragrant teas from exotic places, and the daintiest of petit fours prepared by the palace chefs. After tea had finished, Tinúviel's mother wished her to visit the royal atelier to have another fitting for her birthday gown. It was to be the first she owned with a hem that reached her toes, and she could wear her hair up, both forbidden to royal princesses until they came of age.

Her thick, long, long hair curled to her bottom, a single plain ribbon drawing her hair away from her face, with a raised crown of shining chestnut hair that had natural sun-burnished streaks of fiery auburn, deep garnet and gold from frequent exposure to the sun. As her mother spoke, Tinúviel's gaze fell to the sinuous golden chain clasped around her mother's slender throat; only the chain was visible, but at the end of it, tucked into the neckline of her gown, was a locket. Inside that locket, Tinúviel knew, was the single lock of hair that was left of evidence that, once upon a time, Rapunzel had lived. That lock of hair was all her parents had left of her twin-sister, and Tinúviel would often see her mother clasping the locket in her hand.

_What would Prince Septimus do_? Tinúviel asked herself again.

She decided that Prince Septimus, so cunning, would disguise and deceive to get what he wished: and that he would do whatever it took to obtain what he desired. And he would carefully plan, thinking three steps ahead at every move, thinking through every reaction of those involved.

Carefully, while she stood for new gown fittings, Tinúviel went through a mental checklist of things she needed to accomplish, as follows: _Evade Mummy and Daddy-King: leave the palace—without alerting the Palace Guard. Or Maximus: cross The Water: if possible, find a guide to take me through the countryside: find Rapunzel_.

To this mental list, she added one more note: _Kill/Capture the crone who stole my sister from us_.

Taking a deep breath, Tinúviel's back straightened, and she examined her reflection with thoughtful eyes. What would Rapunzel look like? Mummy and Daddy-King said Rapunzel had had hair the colour of purest sunshine. The murals and mosaics dedicated across the city to depictions of the royal family often showed a young golden-haired child with green eyes. Their mother's eyes. Tinúviel looked very like her mother, though she had her father's great height.

But they were twins. Surely Rapunzel would look like _Tinúviel_?

How would Esmeralda—the titular heroine of Tinúviel's favourite serial—go about finding a long-lost sister? She would begin, Tinúviel believed (picking the glossy, colourful print of the latest installation from the middle of her economics workbook, and opening it to the first page) by gathering supplies.

This was the first act of open rebellion Tinúviel had ever considered: before now, she had been perfectly content to remain within the city walls, taking her politics lessons, learning court etiquette, attending balls and operas, visiting the markets and quayside fishmongers, the warehouse and perfumeries; a small group of young children on the docks knew to look out for her, because she always bought them hot, flaky fish, milk and fresh currant-buns for lunch, and when she had noticed that their clothing was threadbare, she had started making shirts and dresses especially for them.

Was it truly rebellion, if all she wanted was to bring back her parents' joy? Even if it came at the expense of a few weeks' utter terror? Could she give her mother and father a few weeks of worry when she disappeared, even if she could return with the key to their ever-enduring future happiness?

_Yes_, she answered herself honestly. When the final outcome was more than worth it, she would just have to push aside her misgivings over causing her parents heartache. _So what would Esmeralda do_?

Mentally, she tallied up another list. This one, of supplies: a spare change of clothing; blades; food; wine; water; items of value that she could trade, for more food, more clothing, transportation or accommodation. _And a boat_.

_What would Prince Septimus do_? He would cause a diversion, and sneak out in shadow.

As she stood for her new gowns, and did her geography and economics homework, Tinúviel refined her plan. It was a simple one, but sometimes the best ones are.

She had an idea of which direction to travel—for some reason, she knew that her sister resided somewhere north-north-east from the capital of Coronae, for she could point out the location with absolute certainty whenever she wondered where Rapunzel was. She knew that her sister's location was, by the compass, north-north-east. She knew that Tortuga, a notorious pirate port, and La Dorada (the Conquistadors of _Spain_ centuries ago had believed it was called _El _Dorad_o_: it _was_ actually a city of gold, but it was named for a woman), built into the sides of a deep canyon range, would be key places to remember, though she had no fixed destination to chart on any map, just the certainty in her heart.

The only thing she needed was a distraction, and then she could slip away, unnoticed. Long before, she had helped her father build the little sailboat they fished from and dove from when they had a 'holiday'; she could have made a great sea-captain out of herself, because she had long ago mastered the water, and had gained her sea-legs through frequent sailing lessons with her father. Together, they often sailed around the island, and to a particular mainland lagoon with silver sands and vivid pink coral that boasted curious large shells and a bed of oysters that produced the finest pearls in the kingdom outside of the Catavarian Isles. And it was Tinúviel's plan to take her little boat, the _Sun_ _Pearl_, and sail across The Water to the mainland, following the coast.

In preparation for her journey, Tinúviel gathered things over the next two days, some small, and innocuous; others, a little strange, like her elegantly-curved falchion sword, which usually resided in the armoury unless she and her father were sparring. Magic being as pervasive in Coronae and Stormhold as breathing, Tinúviel had found at one of the markets a small, oiled-leather pack that was made so neatly and would fit so snugly against the small of her back, with straps to go over her shoulders, and it had waterproofing magic on it, to keep the contents entirely dry even when submerged in water. It also held whatever she needed, without affecting the integrity of the bag's shape and weight. She frequently used it when wandering the city, and when she and her parents went for a 'holiday' on their private beach.

Most of the items she packed were those she had collected and traded herself in the city markets: a mechanical bluebird that sang prettily; an engraved harmonica; a beautiful music-box of gold filigree with an etched-crystal dome covering two mechanical gold dancers; a dragon's scale; three spun-charm flowers from Mount Calamon; a string of hand-blown glass beads that were made only on one particular island in the Catavarian Isles; several small spools of the finest silk threads made in the city capital of Coronae (much sought-after); handmade buttons from the Transluminary Citadel of His Vastness the Freemartin Muskish; and several lengths of silk in rich gemlike colours with metallic sheens and exquisite patterns; and she kept several pouches of expensive foreign herbs and teas, and neatly-sealed glass phials of expensive spices. To this she added a bottle of finest Baragundian red-wine from her father's personal wine-cellar

Then there were several things that she had accumulated as gifts from others over the years: two blue-white diamonds; a length of exquisite lace from _Brussels_ and a soft suede pouch of natural Coronaean pearls, nearly twenty in number, the size of her thumbnail, and so lustrous they glowed like tiny moons: these pearls, she had dived for herself.

She also packed a skin of water; and a small enamel bottle filled with an amber liquid that intoxicated easily unless drunk very slowly; it tasted like honey mixed with wood smoke and cloves, and warmed her to the toes and sent tiny bubbles giggling to her fingertips and nose. A packet of raw sausages in waxed paper, a small wheel of cheese, and a handful of jacket potatoes were added to the pack, with two hand-carved cups and plates.

There was one last thing, besides her pocket-allowance (collected over several months, and which came to the sum of a golden sovereign, three guineas, and seventeen shillings) that she added, at the very last moment: the stub of a Babylon Candle. It had barely one use left, and she wasn't entirely certain it would last the entire journey to her sister, wherever she was. And certainly would not get them the whole way home. So she was determined not to use it unless they were running short on time returning to Coronae. Or an event of utmost emergency.

* * *

><p>Tinúviel woke earlier than usual the morning she intended to leave for her adventure, before her maid came in to lay her outfit out for the morning, and breakfast in her private dining-room. She was expected at dancing lessons, politics, a review for her progress with the violin, and she had an hour in her little garden-allotment, another for poetry and needlework, and an hour was set aside after a heavy assortment of law, economics and architecture lessons for swimming in the private lagoon.<p>

Her obsession with Esmeralda, the princess-adventuress, had led to a desire to dress like her heroine, and a little while ago Tinúviel had created several garments like those the exotic heroine war. People from all over visited Coronae, so it was little surprise to see exotic dress in the markets and wharves, and Tinúviel had picked up a thing or two about fitting in even when appearing utterly exotic. Two years of disguising herself to wander the city gave her a certain sense of ease, but her hands trembled with excitement as she donned an entirely foreign pair of _knickers_—a triangle of fabric that covered the curls between her thighs, and cut over the curves of her bottom—and a soft, embroidered and beaded blouse with fitted silk-tulle sleeves that reached her wrists, and a deep, neat V-neckline that dipped to her breasts. Over these, she pulled on a set of very fitted pale-topaz silk trousers that were the most daring thing she had ever worn, and buttoned at her knee: they had a wide waist-cummerbund of beautifully embroidered sapphire jacquard, with tiny pearl buttons at the scalloped back. The last garment was a fitted empire-waist pelisse of pomegranate-red silk, with tiny puff sleeves and delicate buttons over her breasts, the neat hem falling to her knees. A pair of brown-leather boots so supple and soft completed the outfit, laced neatly. And, yes, the boots did match her pack.

She buckled the supple leather of her sword-belt around her waist, draping the holster of a wicked curved hunting-knife over her shoulders, before donning the pack.

Intending to purchase breakfast for herself on the wharves, Tinúviel checked the tiny watch she kept on her wrist by a ribbon, and exhaled for steadiness. Her father would already be breakfasting, ready to go to his working study and attend to the business of the day. Mummy might have joined him, if she had early audiences.

While it can be said that the clothes do not make the man—or woman, for that matter—they can add a certain spice to the recipe, and Tinúviel in the trousers and pelisse, a sword strapped to her slender hips, a pack of goods over her back, was a very different Tinúviel from the one who wore her morning and afternoon-dresses, attending to her lessons and taking afternoon-tea with her parents, reading stories of Flynnigan Rider and Esmeralda in the library to satisfy her curiosity over adventuring.

This Tinúviel looked entirely different, perhaps because of the deep, vivid pomegranate-red of her pelisse, and in her boots she even walked differently; there was a swagger to her step, the slim lines of her hips evident and appealing, and there was a sensual freedom in her walk. She still threw back her shoulders proudly, and without her corsets, the breasts she thrust forward were beautifully plump and high. Her excitement was palpable, and the glow she sometimes emanated when happy was now vibrant, illuminating everything she passed with a golden shine.

She felt confident, and with her sword, she felt more than capable.

There was one thing she wished to do before leaving.

Visit her sister's crown.

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><p><strong>A.N.<strong>: Please review!


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